


if the sun chooses not to rise

by hikaie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arranged Marriage, Human-Werewolf Interactions, M/M, Slow Build, transgender character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-01-16
Packaged: 2018-03-06 15:14:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3138974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hikaie/pseuds/hikaie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the King of the Humans and the Queen of the Lupine come together to ally their people, their sons get sucked into an arranged marriage that is ill-suited to their personalities, or so they think.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> More tags and characters to be added.
> 
> I got absolutely slammed in the face by inspiration because of [this post.](http://coffeeinallcaps.tumblr.com/post/107445717431/cribbagematch-his-arranged-husband-whos-a) While mine is loosely based on the same idea, this story is probably going to go in a different direction and be a bit more fleshed out. I'm about to start back at college soon so I'll have to work out a schedule. Maybe posting every Tuesday (that's not set in stone.) Happy reading!

Derek sits down to a peaceful breakfast with his family the morning his entire world falls apart.

The servants have just set down the last trays and he meets Laura’s eyes over the steaming tureen of breakfast stew. Both of them reach for the ladle at once, eyes flashing, claws out, but as always, his older sister wins, cackling as he yanks his healing hand back with a whine. He pouts and instead heaps a pile of steamed sweet rice onto his plate in preparation for when the ladle will come his way.

Around the table, low chatter rises up. Of course, everyone at the table can hear it, but it’s out of politeness that the illusion of privacy still exists. His mother, at the head of the table, quietly discusses politics with her husband and her brother, Derek’s uncle Peter. Beside Peter sits Laura, and Derek across from her. Derek isn’t much for conversation, but he watches as Laura converses with their younger sister Cora. Further down the table, their cousin (Peter’s daughter) Malia pushes a roasted potato through stew on her plate. Laura’s betrothed is absent today, but their young son Jacobi eats voraciously next to Derek. A few other siblings of his mingle and chat at the table.

Derek takes his time with his food, sopping up stew with fresh honey rolls and letting Jacobi help him with his rice. After the children have left the table and Cora has gone off to her sparring training and Laura to her chambers with Jacobi, his parents and uncle look down at him.

“Derek, dear, are you finished?” He looks up from his plate, pushing his chair back.

“Yes mother.” He sits still, looking between their faces. His eyebrows crumple in confusion. “Is there something you need from me?” They all share a heavy look, and Derek’s ears perk up as he hears their heart beats thump.

“As you know, myself and your father have been in closed door negotiations with King Stilinski this week.”

“Yes…?”

“Well, we have decided, that is, I and His Majesty Stilinski, feel it best that we arrange a betrothal between our kingdoms for better safety and security of all peoples.”

Derek’s stomach sinks as she continues. “As you know, Laura is obviously married already, and Cora is not yet of age, nor is Malia. As it so happens, special conditions allow for the betrothal of you and Stilinski’s son.”

Derek bends the expensive silver spoon in his hand. “What.” It’s less of a question than a disbelieving noise that has escaped his mouth.

“He will arrive in one week’s time, and your marriage will be set for the day after his arrival.” His mother smiles, though it seems sad. “I know this is not what you had in mind, my son, but remember the people.”

“The people. Right.” Derek says, quietly, and turns back to his plate. His reflection stares up at him, blurry in the thin film of stew still on his plate. “Right.”

* * *

 

“I’m as surprised as you!” Stiles shifts uncomfortably on his saddle. Riding has never come easy to him. Beside him, his best friend and Oracle to the king, Lady Martin, seems to effortlessly and gracefully float as her steed carries her.

“With all due respect, your royal highness, you’re an idiot.” She throws him a look and he glares at her. “You had to expect this would happen one day.”

“Yeah, one day being some day in the future!” Stiles stops his steed and huffs out a breath. “I just… never expected to be betrothed to a Lupine. Let alone third in line for the throne, Prince Derek himself.”

“You’re first in line for your father, I’m not quite sure why it matters.”

“That’s a good point you know, who’s going to take my place? We’re going to have to call this off.”

“Your highness.” Lydia clears her throat. “Stiles. Your father has long to live, and has many trusted councilors that he will no doubt choose an intelligent mind from to take his place when the time comes for it. Or, realistically, Derek will never take the throne and you will one day return here to take your place as the rightful heir to the throne, and King of the Humans.” She moves her steed closer to his and he bunches his hands up in his reigns.

“Can’t you just tell me?” He asks in a choked, quiet voice. They’ve ridden through the hills, out to the cliff that overlooks the meandering alleyways of the town clinging to the outer castle walls and the sprawl of farmland beyond. Already his hearts aches for his home.

She smiles at him and places her small, gloved hand over his own. “You know that’s not how it works.”

“Right, well.” He rolls his shoulders and gives a last, forlorn glance over the city below. “Let’s return, shall we? My dad is expecting me for supper, and no doubt he wishes to immediately prepare for the journey to the Hale Kingdom.”


	2. Chapter 2

The morning air is thick with fog. All around him, Derek watches warm air cloud from the nostrils of his and his family’s steeds. They’re waiting on the Queen’s road for their arriving guests. It’s been a week now since Derek learned of his arranged marriage and, while he was broody at first (as Derek is wont to be) he is now only eager to meet his betrothed. His mother suggested the meeting some ways from the city, so that they could escort the humans to the castle and Derek would have a chance to meet with his intended. He shifts against the hard leather of his saddle and sighs impatiently.

Laura brings her mare up beside his. Her horse is a beauty, dappled grey on white with a well-cared-for mane. She nudges against his own horse and Derek smiles softly.

“So, little brother. You’re about to join the ranks of us married folk. How does it feel?” Laura’s grin is wide and bright. Derek rolls his eyes affectionately.

“Still terrifying.”

“Oh, you’ll get over it in about, say, two years.” She looks out over the browning pastures, shortgrass thick with frost. Her hand clasps around her furs. Beneath them, Derek can see her growing stomach, the sign of a new life. It will be her third child; she had lost the second. He looks away, grinding his back teeth, trying not to think about his childless future. It’s, of course, unnecessary with their large family and him being merely third in line for a throne that won’t be up for grabs any time soon. Nonetheless, he’d always seen himself with a child, or children, some day.

“Bronze for your thoughts?” Laura peers at him and he shrugs.

“Just wondering where my husband-to-be is.” He turns his head to look at her and she looks sad, almost. Perhaps she, too, had been thinking of the child she had lost to their last winter. Laura reaches over and cups his face and Derek lets out a long exhale.

“Don’t worry baby brother. It’ll ruin that beautiful face of yours.” She pats his cheek and pulls her hand away.

When the fog has cleared just a bit, Derek’s ears pick up the distant sound of hooves on hard-packed earth. Emerging from the mist comes an entourage of horses and a drawn carriage. They slow to a stop before his own party, and an armored human dismounts and approaches his mother, not before bowing. They speak quietly and Derek finds it easy to tune their conversation out as he strains his ears in an attempt to discern which of the hot, fumbling heartbeats belongs to his betrothed.

“Derek.” Laura places her hand on his shoulder. “Dismount. Mother says the Stilinskis have requested your presence until we arrive back at the castle.”

Laura takes the reigns of his mare and a guardsman ties him off to the back of her mare; he’s grateful, as there are few people he would trust with his horse. Grass and dirt crumble under his boots and his furs rustle loudly in what seems like an abhorrent silence that has suddenly fallen. He makes his way to the carriage and carefully opens the door.

He squeezes inside; it’s warm and plush. He hates carriages; though they are comfortable, it always seems too small. King Stilinski adjusts the spectacles on his face and places a book he had been reading aside and smiles congenially at Derek. “Welcome, Prince Derek. I hope our invitation has not overstepped any boundaries.”

“No, your Majesty.” Derek tilts his head respectfully, and finally lets his eyes fall upon the young prince beside the king. He is pale, mole-flecked and thin. The carriage begins moving, the Queen’s road rocking it gently. Derek clears his throat.

“I believe it’s been a decade and a half since you two last saw one another? Stiles here was just a toddler at the time.” The King smiles warmly at his son and the prince makes a face. Derek feels as if he faintly remembers this event, but only just.

“Nice to meet you.” The prince grunts. Derek arches a brow, but tilts his head again.

“The same to you, your Highness.” Derek finds it hard to believe that the sudden, bubbling laugh comes from the boy in front of him. He turns and smiles at Derek.

“Given what our status is, I think you can call me by my name.”

“I do not believe that is proper.” The King laughs and reaches over to pat Derek on the shoulder. Even with his strength and size, the King manages to jostle his body with the strength of his grip. Derek swallows.

“That’s my son for you. Go ahead, prince. You can call the boy by his name. Well, his preferred name. I’m sure he’ll run his sword through you if you ever called him Gen-”

 _“Father!_ ” The Stilinski prince hisses and his father laughs boisterously, pulling back and picking up his book again.

“I’ll let you two talk.” The King, still smiling, peruses his text. Derek trails his eyes to his intended, swallowing thickly once more.

“And your preferred name is?”

“Uh.” The boy gapes. Derek recalls, suddenly, that he’s nearly five years older than the prince. At least their marriage will be traditional in one sense. “Stiles. I prefer Stiles. It’s an old family name, on my mother’s side.”

Derek hums and looks around the carriage. It’s got a higher drape than most human carriages do- enough that he doesn’t have to hunch. He wonders, hopes even, if it was designed in mind of Lupine. It’s a small kindness, but a kindness from a human is a rarity.

“So…” Stiles leans forward, peers through the curtains on the carriage door. “I’ve never seen your Kingdom. How are the pubs?”

“The- the what?”

“You know, the pubs. Holes-in-the-wall. Draft Houses.” Stiles arches his eyebrows at him and Derek splutters.

“Lupine don’t… imbibe, often. It’s hard to find something that will have the same effect on us as spirits do on humans.” Derek’s tongue fumbles on the word _human_ , seemingly foreign to his mouth. He can hear the hissing attitude he’s put behind the syllables, and so, apparently, has Stiles.

“Yeah. That’s what Lydia told me.” His mouth sets in a firm line and his knee bounces, abruptly, adding to the motion of the carriage. Derek grips the delicate cotton cushions under him. “Do you have a problem with humans, Derek?”

He feels the eyes of the King on the two of them, though the man is trying to be discrete about it. Derek narrows his eyes. “Not nearly as much of a problem with them as they do with us.”

“Oh and what exactly does that mean?” Stiles leans forward. Derek’s heart pounds at the long, supple curve of his throat. His adrenaline is rushing and the muted anger in his body surges; he hides his claws in the seat, fabric tearing neatly beneath his fingers. “This isn’t the Fifth Age, Prince Hale. Humans do not harbor or give passage to Hunters.”

The word rips through Derek like a dagger. He sets his teeth, holding in a growl. It’s not very diplomatic to growl at a Prince, let alone in the presence of his father, a King; let _alone_ a Prince he’s about to marry. The King sets aside his book and places a hand on his son’s shoulder, firmly pulling him back into his seat. “Easy, son.”

“Perhaps in our company, you will learn something about the history of the Lupine, and not the inanity taught by human tutors.” Derek spits. Silence falls over the trio. Derek tunes in on the soft noise of hooves outside. Beyond, he can hear a millstone grinding quietly. They’re nearly at the city limits now, and it won’t be long before they reach the castle. Derek awaits a response from the Prince, but Stiles merely stares at him in an unnerving manner for the rest of the ride.

* * *

 

Stiles has brought a select troupe of men with him, who will leave the service of his father and come under the service of the Hales. Derek had been separated from the Prince after their ride; they’re not to talk or see one another until the next day. Instead, he’s surveying the men milling about the stables. There’s a man with an olive complexion and slanted eyes, laughing boisterously at something one of the other men said. Beside him is a taller, stern looking man with blonde hair and a defined bone structure. He shucks his horse with ease and sneers at the other men. Derek will have to keep a special eye on him; while responsibility is rewarded, teamwork is rather more important. The last is a tall, broad boy with dark hair and a skin tone similar to the first.

“They smell weak to me.” Boyd intones from beside him. Derek sighs and shrugs. The rest of his entourage gathers around Boyd.

“It’s a pity that humans don’t let women into their services.” Erica sniffs, delicately placing a hand on her hip. “They really cut their defenses in half, you know?”

Isaac pipes in, then. “The only ones that allow it are Hunters. They’re much like us, you know. Matriarchal.”

“That’s all unimportant. Isaac, go make sure their quarters have been prepared in the Northeast tower, the floor below your quarters.” The younger Lupine scurries off. Derek inhales sharply and sighs once more. “Boyd, see to it that new armor is made up for them, with the Hale crest. Erica, attend to Stiles.”

“ _What_?” Her face sets into a deep scowl, and she reeks of offense.

“Look, as you said, they’re not like us.” Derek gestures at the knights in the stables. “He’ll be more accustomed to a woman waiting on him. _Not_ that he’s not supposed to treat you with the respect you deserve.” Derek pauses, holding up a hand. Erica has newly come into herself; typically, Lupine women come to full power with their cycle. Her eyes are flashing angrily. He gives her a stern look. “He is my… intended, Erica. This is an important job, no less important than any other. Far more so, in fact.” It takes some more wheedling, but she finally tramps off through the muddy stable yard towards the West wing of the castle.

Derek leans heavily on the brick of the outer stable wall and rubs his face. He’s trying so hard just to not crash and burn. He can hear the distant sounds of preparation within the castle; the bustling foot falls of many servants and officials, the sound of dinnerware and cookware down in the basements where the kitchens are, the early cooking for tomorrow’s wedding feast. Beyond, though he thinks it’s a stretch given he’s on the entirely opposite side of the castle, he thinks perhaps he can hear maids that are in his room, preparing his marriage-bed. It all sinks upon him like a heavy stone in his gut and he has to spend a few agonizing moments in the yard, breathing the cool air and trying not to focus on his impending future with Prince Stilinski.


	3. Chapter 3

   
  
---  
  
Stiles stares out of the narrow window in the High Eastern tower of Castle Hale. The city here is much larger, sprawling out in a circular fashion from the castle. He can see, from this distance the size of threads, streets and alleyways. The Queen’s Road stretches into the misty distance. The glass is foggy and distorts the view, but he sullenly accepts that this land is beautiful, even if it isn’t his home.

Although he’s not permitted to see Derek until their… _event_ tomorrow, his quarters are only two floors below the broody wolf Prince’s. The bed is soft, laden with thick blankets and surrounded by delicate and no doubt expensive silk curtains. Stiles thumbs one of the embroidered edges and looks around the rest of the room. Three windows border the rounded edge, softly spilling morning light across the floors. An ornate rug stretches from the foot of the grand bed all the way to the comfortable-looking chairs placed askew from the large fireplace. Earlier, a curly haired, pale Knight had come by with servants and directed them to their duties; there’s a fresh plate of fruit, bread, and cheese on the table between the chairs, a flagon of sweet-smelling Winterberry wine beside it. The fireplace crackles and emits an unknown but pleasant smell and heats the room comfortably. Stiles quite likes his quarters; he wonders distantly if he will be allowed to remain here rather than staying two floors above.

A knock sounds at the door and Stiles turns his head from where he had zoned out on the fire. “Come in.”

“My, you are foolish.” A feminine voice announces. The heavy wooden door scrapes lightly across the stone floor and then thuds shut. A woman falls into the chair across from him and Stiles gapes.

“Excuse me?”

“You let me enter without even knowing who I was. I could have been an assassin, or worse.” She reaches over towards the plate and plucks a small vine of berries from it, full and shiny red. They paint her lips a sickening shade. Stiles swallows uncomfortably.

“Well if you’re here to kill me, by all means. Then I won’t have to go through with this wedding.” She laughs loudly, throwing her head back with it. Stiles frowns. “It wasn’t a joke.”

“Oh, I know. You Princes, the lot of you. So moody.” She chews idly for a few moments. “I’m one of Derek’s, my name is Erica. He sent me to look after you. From now until tomorrow I’ll be attached to your hip.” She grins. “Don’t try and outrun me- I don’t play easy with humans.” He rolls his eyes but she’s still smiling- he forgets, easily, how attuned Lupine are to their senses. She can probably hear the way his heart is stuttering with nerves.

The door opens again and Stiles looks up this time, as does Erica. She’s scowling now. “These are private quarters. Don’t you know how to knock?” She makes a rough, sniffing noise. “Oh. You’re human.”

Lydia is giving Erica the bravest look Stiles could imagine a human ever giving a Lupine. Her eyes are pure fury. She stalks over and places a hand possessively on the back of Stiles’ neck and he watches, quite uncomfortably, as Erica’s eyes flash sharp, bright blue at the display.

“Pretty familiar, you two are. Should I inform Derek about your Lady?” Erica grins again, but this time it seems wicked. Predatory.

“Gods above you’re dense.” Lydia quips. She runs her fingers through Stiles’ hair and he relaxes a bit. “I’d never lie with this tool. Besides that, I’m an Oracle.” She pats his head affectionately.

“Forgive me for not being very knowledgeable of your weird Human religion.” Erica squishes a berry between her teeth and Stiles feels sick.

“Don’t speak to her that way.” Erica looks affronted, mouth opening and then shutting suddenly. Stiles feels a sudden thrill- he should have done this ten minutes ago. He’s not one to often abuse the power that comes with being Royalty (unless he’s feeling particularly nosey and he’s trying to persuade Captain Parrish to let him into the dungeons or an interrogation), but here, where he is a foreigner in more ways than one, a guest, and the betrothed to one of the Hale line, he knows it’s a useful power to have on his side. Erica is silent, but glaring.

Lydia smiles primly and twirls to look at him. “So. I thought we were going to… talk?”

Stiles gestures at the Lupine across from him. “I don’t feel comfortable with her here.”

“Too bad. Think of me like a leech for the next 24 hours.” She grins again.

“Sucking the happiness out of my life? Can’t you grant me an hour pardon so I can speak _alone_ with Lady Martin?”

“What, so you can screw her behind Derek’s back? I don’t think so. Given who you’re going to become, you’ll see much of me over the next few years.” Her words carry heavy implications. Stiles flushes up to his ears. “Trust me- both of us will know far more than we ever wanted to know about the other, alas, that’s the way of living with Lupine. You will come to accept it, and the sooner, the better.”

“It’s… _private_.” Stiles insists, gritting his teeth and leaning forward. He arches his shoulders in a defensive motion, trying to make himself appear bigger than he really is. It’s not very effective.

Lydia speaks up, then. “Stiles has a Time.”

“ _LYDIA!”_ Stiles rises out of his chair, eyes glaringdaggers at his closest friend. She has the decency to look at least somewhat guilty, but Lady Martin is not a very shameful person.

Erica’s eyebrows are nearly at her hairline and she’s staring far too hard and far too long at his crotch-area than he’s explicitly _comfortable_ with. He stalks to the bed and falls face first against the plush mattress, pulling the blankets over himself in further hopes of disappearing.

“As in, a blood moon? That kind of Time?” Erica rises to her feet and inhales. Stiles peeks around with a horrified look, seeing the confusion plain on her face. “How is that possible? He smells no different from any knight or man I have ever come across.” She cocks her hip, chainmail clinking.

“Work of an herbalist.” Lydia explains, matter-of-factly. “Our tailors sew certain items into his clothing so that even during his Time, there’s no scent to reveal himself to a Lupine.”

“Interesting.” Erica shrugs. “So, what’s so private about that?”

“Uh. What?” Stiles gapes at the wolf, sitting up and pulling the blankets around him protectively.

“Why were you so adamant in keeping it private?”

Lydia sniffs derisively. “It’s not exactly acceptable in our Kingdom.”

“You’re the Prince.” Erica snorts. “It’s not as if someone could stop you.”

“It would reflect badly on the court.” Stiles objects, the sadness in his voice obvious. Erica’s expression falls a bit and something seems to click in her head.

“Oh. So that’s why… _Oh_.” Lydia makes a face and sits next to Stiles, rubbing his back comfortingly. He glares at her and she shakes her head, smiling. Well… okay, if she rubs like two centimeters lower he’ll stop being mad at her- yep. Yeah. She knows the way to his heart.

“Does the Prince know?” Erica’s face and tone seem to have slipped into the territory of ‘genuine.’ It’s kind of frightening, but nice. Stiles shifts and shares a guilty look with Lydia, turning his eyes up to Erica.

“That’s what we were going to talk about.”

The Lupine growls in the back of her throat but she stalks to the door, setting the bolt into place and then leaning against it. “Alright. Let’s talk.”


End file.
